Against the Wall
by TrinityWildcat
Summary: When the pressure is on the Las Vegas CSI lab, everyone’s backs are against the wall… especially Grissom’s.


**Disclaimer**: I own not these characters, and I acknowledge the legal rights of those who do (and admire their ability to get paid for writing about them, unlike myself).

**Notes**: Originally inspired by Grissom's famous comment in the CSI pilot. The setting isn't specifically meant to be any particular room. Alas, I haven't the time to watch hours of CSI to pick out a specific room that fits the description. Let's just say it's a lab with a glass window that people wandering past could see into. I'll bet they have one of those, and if they don't, they _ought_ to have.

Also, I know the 'what's eating Gil Grissom?' line has been used before, but I needed something dumb for Greg to say, and couldn't think of anything else that fitted the bill. With thanks to Cybrokat for the beta read.

In the early hours of another Friday-that-had-run-into-Saturday, Sara padded quietly through the dark, empty, lab, and sighed heavily. They were all feeling the strain at the moment. Lately it seemed as though the citizens of Las Vegas had given up on finding ever-more ingenious ways to off one another and turned to plain old-fashioned brutality, as though God had decided to take a day off and play _Grand Theft Auto: Las Vegas_. Shootings, stabbings, muggings… it seemed as though every hour brought in yet another corpse, another sad remnant of what had once been a human life. Admittedly, with some of the recent cases – gang members shooting each other over a few grams, a domestic abuser whose victim had finally snapped and reached for the kitchen knife – it was hard not to feel that it was no great loss, maybe even a blessing. But mainly, what everyone felt was exhaustion and irritability.

Warrick & Nicky had taken to volunteering for any case that took them out of the city and got them out of the lab and into daylight for a few hours; they were currently out looking for a suspected drunk-driver's corpse on the city outskirts. Catherine, out with the homicide cops in search of an elusive witness to a shooting off the Strip in the early hours of the evening, had taken to glowering at everyone and everything as though the daily death toll was a personal insult. Even the coroners, whose job description involved not being affected by repeatedly cutting open mangled dead bodies, were showing the strain. The day shift were dealing with it by working only the hours they were contracted for and leaving the rest for everyone else. Ecklie was, in his own words, proving that his team could deliver results using only the resources allocated to them. In everyone else's words, he was attempting to simultaneously suck up to the higher powers, prevent his own shift from open mutiny after one too many occasions when he had exploited them for his own political advancement, and annoy the hell out of Grissom by leaving the extra work to the night shift.

Until recently, the only cheerful person on the CSI team had been Greg. 'Had', because he had made the mistake of cheerfully remarking to Warrick "It's kinda like a movie remake in here lately – 'What's Eating Gil Grissom'?" Unfortunately, Greg hadn't thought to check that Grissom was nowhere in hearing range. His expression on turning round and seeing Grissom behind him had been one to remember, although not nearly as memorable as Grissom's reaction; he had given Greg a glower that would have silenced someone considerably dimmer and less sensitive, turned without a word, and stomped off. Since then Grissom had been speaking to Greg with icy politeness, and the young lab tech had taken to slouching around the place with his head down and a hangdog expression, listening to CDs whose theme might be _Music For the Depressed_. He was currently hunched over a set of swabs listening to _Suicide is Painless_; Sara decided not to interrupt.

Sara sighed again. It was not really like the Gil Grissom she knew to hold a stupid joke against someone like that, and she guessed that part of the problem was that Greg had been right on the money. Grissom seemed permanently distracted, frowning at something no-one else could see, and that, as much as anything, was what was causing the bad atmosphere on the team. You had to wonder really if it was healthy, the way everyone looked up to him, took their lead from him… more like a slightly-dysfunctional family than a professional environment. _But then, what is healthy around here? We deal with the deaths of so many people in so many horrible ways. Most people never have to think about this, because we keep it away from them. Can anyone judge how we cope with it, when it's something that normal people never have to live with? _Her own problem, of course was simpler. Rationally, she knew that when you put two people with a shared profession together in a stressful environment for days on end without either of them really meeting anyone outside, and when they were both single and lonely, attraction was bound to spark up. As adults, they should both be able to deal with it. But her attraction to him was not entirely rational, and never would be. _It would be simpler if it was _just_ attraction, just lust. Then we could sleep together and get it out of our systems._ But she knew only too well that for her, that would be only the beginning, that she wanted Grissom – intense, caring Grissom – as much more than just a one-night stand. As for what he wanted… she didn't know, and suspected he himself didn't either.

She paused outside the lab where he was finishing his own work, steeling herself slightly. Should she just call out 'I've wrapped up my case, see you later?' Would he even hear her? He was hunched slightly over the case notes that were spread all over the table in front of him. She knew she shouldn't be standing and staring at him, but practically everyone was out of the office, having clocked off with a vengeance as soon as they could escape for a day or two's much-needed rest. Grissom sighed, and wriggled his shoulders as though he had cramp in them. Sara was tempted to walk in and rub them for him. _Oh, I must be sleep deprived._ Would he mind? It was a stupid idea, just asking for a sexual harassment case… but would he do that to her? He might act awkward, ask her politely to back off, but surely he couldn't possibly act any more irritable than he had been lately. He stretched, stood up and wandered over to the window which looked out onto the other lab, leaning against the frame and looking tired.

Before she quite knew what she was doing, she padded up behind him. He lifted his head as though hearing her, but didn't turn round. Tentatively, she reached out to touch his shoulders. He whirled round as though she'd touched him with a live wire; she found herself jumping backward, stuttering 'Oh hell, I'm sorry, I thought you heard me…'

Grissom's blue eyes looked confused, then he simply stared at her with a strange, distant. "No…. no, I didn't hear you." Was it distance? _He should have heard me, I'm wearing heels on a tiled floor_… No, Sara realised, it wasn't a distant expression. He looked exactly like a man who was trying to make out something he couldn't quite hear. And who was deeply afraid. _Am I imagining this?_ Sara didn't think she was, and her stomach clenched. If she was right, it explained a lot. Grissom was used to carrying the department through a heavy caseload and handling all the different and slightly eccentric personalities within it. But for a CSI, losing your hearing was like losing a hand. You couldn't get a proper impression of a crime scene, pick up on inflections in a witness statement, put yourself in the position of the perp or victim, hearing what they had heard at the time…. Almost without thinking, she reached out to where his hand was resting against the sill and gently laced her own fingers through his. He seemed not to notice; he was still staring at her with that anguished expression. Sara reached out her other hand, lacing her fingers through his again, so that she was holding both his hands. He drew back slightly, but didn't let go, bringing her nearer him. She could faintly smell his aftershave, although after a full day in the lab, what he mainly smelled of was Gil Grissom, warm, pleasant, male… _I should pull back, but what if I offend him, upset him further? _

"Bad night for you too?" she heard him saying, as if from a long distance. She lifted her eyes to meet his. "Yes. Awful," she replied. Again he pulled her gently towards him, as though not quite aware of what he was doing. Before she could lose her nerve, she lifted her hands up to his shoulder level, so that the backs of his hands were against the glass window and he was between her and the glass. She nestled against him, gingerly, ready to pull back, expecting any minute to hear "Sara, I don't think this is a good idea…" She could feel the quivering tension in his muscles, the strength of his arms, pinned against the wall by hers, his heartbeat thumping where her body touched his. Very, very gently, so that it could be taken as friendship, she lifted her head slightly and touched her lips to his neck, to the sensitive spot just under the jaw. He didn't pull away, she could feel him relaxing slightly against her, letting her pin him down. He closed his eyes and sighed softly. _I shouldn't do this, I'll regret it… but I'll regret it more if I don't_. Very gently, she began to kiss him across his jaw, his cheek, warning him, giving him the chance to move away. He turned his head slightly, and their lips met, just touching. Briefly, she imagined those strong, gentle fingers caressing her, and shivered with emotion. He held her hands more tightly, as if trying to reassure her without words.

_I shouldn't be doing this_… Grissom thought, desperately. _I'm her boss, her employer, it's an abuse of my position and of her_… It had been a hellish shift. Even now, he still wasn't sure exactly how he had ended up here. He had been staring at the evidence for hours, hoping that sooner or later it would resolve itself into a pattern. He vaguely remembered cries of 'We're going to check out the DUI, back later,' 'My case is wrapped up, I'm going before I nosedive into my desk' from the outside corridor. The next thing he knew, Sara's touch on his shoulder startled him. He found himself staring at her, wondering how he could possibly not have heard her footsteps, worrying frantically if this was it, if he was, finally, losing his hearing. Absorbed in worry, he barely felt Sara's hands taking his, holding him, reassuring. Almost before he knew it, they were nestled together, her hands holding his up by his shoulders, her head resting against his shoulder. _I shouldn't be doing this_… but it did feel good, not to be endlessly staring at evidence that refused to make sense, worrying himself sick that the disease was slowly eating away at him. He could feel himself relaxing, his shoulders easing… another minute and he would pull away gently, wish Sara goodnight, write it off as the gesture of one friend to another. Unbidden, a thought popped into his head; the eyewitness statement referred to a car leaving the scene as 'open-top, just an ordinary car', which made no sense if the suspect had, as the evidence suggested, broken his right hand in the knife fight that had resulted in a corpse lying downstairs in the morgue. The description of the eyewitness from an officer at the scene floated through his head; _white male, early forties, British accent_… If the witness was British, did that mean the car was right-hand drive? Could the suspect have been using his unbroken left hand to shift gear and his right arm braced against the wheel to steer? It fitted the evidence. Grissom smiled. First thing tomorrow, he'd have Brass track down the witness… He became increasingly aware of Sara's closeness, her warmth, her hands holding his. _This can't go any further_, he reasoned, _we're in the lab, anyone could drop by, it won't go further_.

Reassured by the thought, he found himself relaxing, enjoying the experience of having someone want to hold him, of being pinned underneath Sara's slender body. She smelt… well, of Sara, of warm female, perfume, lab chemicals and laundry soap. It was so long since another human being had touched him, had wanted to comfort him – although he could tell Sara wanted more, her tongue daring to touch his lips, just briefly. He wanted more than anything to wrap his arms around her, to take comfort in her warm body against his, to lose himself and his fears in her. He could feel his own body responding to hers, to the warmth and strength in her slender form. More dangerously, he could feel his mind responding to her, wanting to hold her, stroke her, kiss her… his own lips parted and he felt her press herself against him, more urgently, the warmth of her body through her thin shirt contrasting with the cold glass against his back. Almost without thinking, he unlaced his left hand from hers. Her eyes opened, she looked afraid. That hurt, he wanted to say, _Sara, I meant what I said for the best, I don't want to hurt you or reject you_, but contented himself with gently sliding his hand from her shoulder down to the small of her back, holding her against him. The kiss continued, slowly, gently and feeling wonderful. Would she ever release him? Did he want her to? He tried pushing back against her hand, gently. She chuckled, and quickly pinned it back down. Her eyes were shut, blissfully. He caught himself thinking, _Does she like croissants in the morning? Do I have any? Can I even _find_ the bed with the state my house is in right now? _

_I don't believe it, I'm in Grissom's arms, being kissed by him_… Sara felt as though the rest of the world, the cold lab, the unsolved cases, had dropped away. Ignoring the small voice at the back of her head that chattered _You're in your workplace, kissing your boss, against a glass-fronted corridor where anyone who wanders past could see, you could both be the talk of the office on Monday_, she grinned as he tried to get his hand free, and felt his answering chuckle ripple through his body. How long had it been since she – since anyone – had heard Grissom laugh? She slid her free hand down to his waist. Finding his shirt untucked, she dared to slip her hand inside it, stroking his back gently. He gasped softly, shutting his eyes and kissing her back. _Oh god, this feels good, it feels wonderful, I want him…_

Suddenly, she heard a sound outside. Someone was warbling "Weeeeellll it's… ONE love, ONE liiiight, ONE need in the niiiiight", and footsteps were heading towards them. Greg, sadly, was no Bono. "Gil?" she whispered, urgently. "Someone's outside." They disentangled, reluctantly but quickly. Grissom swiftly sat down on the table and picked up his notes. Sara walked over, pretending to take an interest.

"Uhh… I've finished the swabs," Greg stuck his head round the door, earphones dangling, accompanied by a faint tinny sound of U2 & Bono asking who was going to ride your wild horses. "I'm going home now, if, um, there's nothing else…"

Grissom looked at his watch, and then looked up. "Good. Go home. Get some sleep. That's an order."

Whatever Greg was picking up from Grissom's expression, it made him practically trip over his feet to get away from the lab. As his footsteps receded swiftly, Sara giggled, a touch nervously, and risking sitting on the bench next to Grissom. He didn't pull away. She risked an arm around his waist; he tensed briefly, then relaxed. She looked at him steadily, until eventually he looked up and met her eyes, worriedly.

"I'm your boss, Sara. I used to be your teacher. I'm abusing my position and you if this goes any further. Plus… I don't know if I'm ready."

Sara bit back the obvious retort, _You were ready a minute ago!_, and replied as calmly as possible "I'm not a child. And there are other forensics labs in the world."

"I don't really have room for anything much in my life besides this." He gestured around them to the lab, and by implication the rest of the building, Las Vegas, all the unsolved cases waiting for the CSI team to deliver justice.

Sara took a deep breath. "I know that. I'm the same, remember? You won't find many other women who understand that." Briefly, she wondered if she should bring up the subject of whether he really hadn't heard her, and whether he wanted to talk about it. _Nope, Grissom and 'talking about it' doesn't work. If he wants to talk, he will…. Let him decide whether to bring it up_.

"I'm not really interested in other women," he murmured. "Look, Sara…"

"Don't spoil it." She looked him straight in the eye. "Gil… I enjoyed that, I know you did. It's up to you what you want to do next, I can't force you." She smiled. "I just hope I was able to make your day better."

"Oh yes." He stretched slightly, looking relaxed and sleepy.

"In that case, I promise to come round and pin you against the wall any time you need it. Other people notwithstanding, of course…"

Grissom smiled, his face lighting up suddenly. They looked at each other for a long time, then he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it gently. "You should go home, too, get some sleep."

"You too." Sara slid gracefully off the bench, and collected her bag and coat. She smiled, looked back behind her once, and was gone, trying not to wish, even briefly, that they could be sleeping beside each other, his shoulder for her pillow.

He watched her go. He sighed, and began to stack the papers together, ready to go home. He still didn't know what exactly to do for the best, but he felt that for once, they had understood each other. Maybe Sara was right and there were solutions to what seemed like insoluble problems. He smiled, and remembered her pressed against him. _Pin _me_ against the wall, hmmm? I wonder how you'd like it..._

5


End file.
